Mason Creek had privileges but he also liked to personally oversee the preparations. It made him happy. That’s why he was grinning as he wheeled his shopping trolley up to the check-out. Paper party cups, an assortment of sandwiches, chocolate bars and cans of fizzy drinks. A birthday treat for young, hungry mouths.Virgins from Estonia.Outside he loaded up the white transit and drove back to his isolated farm close to the picturesque Somerset border and parked outside the warehouse next to several identical vans and Sonja’s motorbike. Mason’s crew, three tattooed bruisers in black T-shirts and jeans and smoking Marlboro by the pack load, were stacking crates and cartons into the back of a van. He nodded a welcome, hauled out his carrier bags, and walked up to the open doors of the warehouse. Inside it resembled an Aladdin’s cave for nicotine-fingered alcoholics. At the far end, shelves were stacked high with contraband goods from the continent. Some boxes had been opened and the contents sampled. A stale smell of smoke and liquor pervaded, despite gusts of fresh air blowing on his back.He strode to the servicing area at one side of the warehouse. An inter-connecting door led into a corridor with toilets and a vending machine nearby. The corridor opened out at the end into akitchen/diner and beyond a spacious shag-pile lounge -- a three-seated sofa with a couple of large teddy-bears propped up on the arm-rests, a few scattered cushions with painted cartoon figures, a DVD player with an album of movie concerts — and behind the lounge, a couple of recreation rooms with ensuite bathrooms.Fun palace.He walked into the kitchen and dumped the bags in the fridge. He would sprinkle Rohypnol over the sandwich fillings and feed them after the show; just enough to keep them going while Sonja hosed down the two they'd broken.He then walked back through the lounge and into a recreation room, opened a wardrobe and took out a large box.His pleasure box.He started to set up a table next to the python cage. Sex toys and accessories, two hello-kitty vibrators, an empty beer bottle, handcuffs, nipple clamps, gaffer tape, cotton wool, bandages, and a bottle of TCP. Plus the heavy-duty secateurs -- window dressing that would ram home the message.He glanced at the Mickey-Mouse clock on the wall. Sonja would be here soon. He had it all planned. The music would be girly pop. Lady Gaga in concert, Sonja would know. She would know alright; how to turn him on, how to torment quivering teenage flesh and inflict pain without damaging the goods, how to get him off.And how to instil fear...He would choose two girls -- a gobby one and a timid one — make sure they all understood that whatever else they would be subjected to in their miserable stopover, what he was going to do would be the worst ever.The others would watch...He would force his little indulgences into pleasuring him. God, how he would enjoy listening to the girls moaning in agony; it would be exquisite.They would all learn...

‘What now?’ It was nuts and bolts time for Jackie. The day was drawing to a close and the details were being tightened up and put in place. After that, eating out at a nearby restaurant would be a welcome change.Debi smiled, passed over the agenda. ‘Two days on an intensive HGV course with an accompanying licence to drive the big buggers, plus a new passport. It could all come in useful. Another day’s training and bringing you up to speed on our investigation to date.’‘And then?’‘And then, you find Sonja Borski.’‘Just like that?’Debi gave her a hard stare. ‘You got a better idea?’Jackie kept a straight face. ‘Well you could haul in a few suspects and give them the rubber truncheon treatment.’Debi looked alarmed. ‘You’re having me on?’Jackie chuckled. ‘Gone soft now you’re marching up the promotion ladder?’ Debi was going to say something, but Jackie held up her hand. ‘It’s a wind-up. Once we start digging at the edges the main players scarper to their rat holes. For all they care, scum’s expendable, right?’Debi nodded; grimaced. ‘Same as you, Jackie. It’s hard-ball we’re playing.’The words hit home.Hard Ball. Expendable.

‘It’s about Paul.’Later at dinner, Jackie raised the subject that had been lurking at the edge of her mind. She and Debi had taken a walk to a Thai restaurant near the hotel; a cosy, cosseting atmosphere and a warm welcome dispelled some of the earlier feelings of nausea. The chicken curry with coconut rice, Paul’s favourite dish, reminded her she had one loose end to resolve. Of course, Debi knew the background; copper for a boyfriend. Younger one at that, but he had been there when she needed him the most last Christmas. Captured a serial killer and rescued her from a similar fate.‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Debi as she sipped her glass of rice wine. ‘You’re in London for a few more days … why not see if you can wangle a night together. You know, talk it through, and really cement your relationship.’Or another bust up.***Paul had been thinking of her when his mobile buzzed. Jackie. Must be psychic. He had been ready with an apology. Jumped the gun -- again. But he didn’t have time, she came straight in with “get your arse up to London — we’ve got a lot to talk about”-- a dirty chuckle -- “in bed.”That was last night, and he was on a promise. She did care after all, and he was ready to compromise. He rearranged his shifts to clock off mid afternoon and at seven o’clock he presented himself in the Londoner pub at Paddington with a cold beer in his hand. When she arrived fifteen minutes later she fell into his arms -- actually she caught her shoe in a hole in the vinyl tiles -- but the effect was the same. Spilt beer that frothed onto the bar, but a big hug and a long, slow kiss to the mutterings of fellow travellers as they side stepped past.When he came up for air, he shot an apologetic look around, and then made up for lost time. ‘I’ve missed you.’She was hanging on every word, trying to move her foot. ‘Bloody heel, last time I wear stilettos; cost me a packet in Oxford Street.’It didn’t look like the only thing she’d bought. Dressed to please him; halter neck black dress that showed cleavage, plenty of it, with his pendant nestling between.She hauled him to a new table and hitched herself sideways on a stool; legs on show up to her thigh. So he could see. She licked her lips, gave him one of those looks. ‘Chardonnay … large one, I’m famished.’Famished?‘Been trucking all day, makes a girl appreciate a bit of rough.’ She squeezed his hand, gave him a big smile. ‘But I’ll make do with you, big boy.’He laughed, she was just taking the piss, and the look in her eye told him he was in for an all-night session. He wasn’t going to complain, but he was going to set her straight. ‘I want our relationship to work, that’s why I’m here. It’s your job ... I can accept that.’ He shot her a warning glance. ‘But if it’s longer term, it could be a different story.’Jackie quietened down, a thoughtful look on her face. ‘You want me to choose ... my career or our relationship?’He nodded.She surprised him; gave him another big hug, whispered in his ear. ‘Not now, Paul. Enjoy the moment. Anything could happen.’It sounded as if she was putting on a cheerful act. His copper’s nose sensed danger.What was she getting into?More worrying thoughts crossed his mind. He decided to back-off -- she would need to fully concentrate on the assignment, and his being around would only complicate matters.‘Okay,’ he said. ‘One day at a time, right?’She kissed him.The orgy aftermath was a different reality, but plenty of tender momentspacified him. Told him their relationship was back on firm ground -- if on hold until these perverts were locked up.Next morning, he skipped breakfast and caught the early train back to Bridleton.Shagged out.

Debi had moved quickly; the secondment had been sought and granted by Bridleton’s Chief Constable, and on Tuesday morning, Jackie sat in Seat 49B with a frothy coffee in a plastic cup, resting her arms on a table. She had caught the early train to London, and was reading the Daily Mail while half-watching the dawn scenery pass by. Her overnight bag was wedged in the rack above her window seat. It was a quiet-zone coach: no mobiles permitted; but several passengers wore headphones attached to iPods and a few were using laptops. Most were reading newspapers, some were even catching up on lost sleep, and a few were deep in conversation; work and last night’s TV seemed to be the main topics.All ignored her; the fat man opposite nodded when he accidently kicked her foot while clambering across the seats, but then buried himself in the Guardian. She felt like a “fly on the wall”, wondering what sort of lives her fellow passengers were leading. None of them engaged in human trafficking, though.At Paddington, the train coasted slowly into platform 1 and Jackie gripped her bag and joined the tail of the exodus; commuter lemmings on their daily march. They walked past Costa coffee house; she walked into a déjà vu moment.Debi Franks had retained her close cropped hairstyle with blond highlights, elegant features and smooth skin. She didn’t look a day older than the last time they’d worked together, two years ago. She was wearing a smart business suit with a white handkerchief peeking out of the top pocket and a bright MacLean’s smile. She waved.Jackie took a deep breath, bit the bullet, and walked over to her table with the bottle of half-finished Perrier water on it, to exchange pleasantries. Another time she would have welcomed meeting up and reminiscing, this time it was a different matter. Debi stood up, a brief hug and an exchange of glances that conveyed a thousand meanings. While Jackie had always got on with her, there had been no shared intimacies, just operational matters. But Debi was a professional, good at her job and destined for the top. She certainly knew how to press buttons. ‘Jackie ... it’s been too long. You look great.’ She motioned towards the counter, raised an eyebrow.Jackie shook her head and drew out a chair. ‘Later.’ She sat down, straight into business mode. ‘What happens now?’Debi continued to smile. ‘I’ve booked you in to Hotel George for a debrief session, it’s walking distance from here...’

...The rules were simple. There weren’t any. Rank counted for nothing if a life depended on it. Jackie remembered what Brains had mentioned. It was dangerous. Bloody dangerous, a high-risk operation. Obtain evidence, finger the bad guys, and get out.Alive.The films were the worst. They showed her the extent of the depravity that some hooded monsters were capable of doing to young innocents. Cigarettes stubbed out on tender buttocks before it got serious. The gagged screams would live with her for a lifetime. These animals needed to be interred for life.A break was taken, while they composed themselves. Jackie felt a burning rage inside; a molten desire to bring these bastards to justice.‘One more clip,’ said Debi, nodding to the officer handling the projector. This film was different, a little grainy and the action wobbled. No sound. ‘One of our off-duty officers took this on his mobile. He was travelling back from Amsterdam with his family at the weekend.’The scene was a drunken brawl at Harwich docks. The camera caught glimpses of the perpetrators who were later detained by the police and given a caution.Debi explained. ‘We think it was a planned disruption.’ The film was replayed and she used a laser beam to point at one of the men. ‘He is on our database, a suspected trafficker. One of the aliases he uses is Davros.’ The beam focused on the lorry at the front of the queue and at the young woman tying up her shoelace. ‘She could be an accomplice. According to Harold Jones, the customs officer, her papers identified her as Sonja Borski.’Jackie gave a start; that name sounded familiar.Debi was still talking. ‘Jones remembered the name, but not the west country address although Bristol or Bridleton seemed to ring a bell.’ Debi almost pleaded; wrung her arms in frustration. ‘Jackie ... that’s your patch ... it’s pretty thin, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.’Sonja Borski?Sonja? It clicked. The no-go area in Bridleton. Home for prostitutes, drug pushers and gangs.A Harmony Estate resident.

Paul was not best pleased. He sat with his mother and her live-in friend, Daisy, at a table in the restaurant of the Blacksmith’s Arms. A table set for four; except that Jackie had opted out — or rather, they had had an argument...

He had come out of the bathroom to hurry her up and overheard some of the conversation. He tackled her about it.‘What did you say? I’m just a boyfriend, nothing serious ... well thanks a lot.’‘Paul, listen ... we agreed the job comes first. I can’t become involved in a relationship until this is over.’‘I thought we were in a relationship.’‘It wouldn’t be fair on you ... us.’‘So I have to just drop out of your life ... is that it?’‘I’ll be full time on this case, I’ll be a nightmare to live with, Paul.’He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing.’She just looked at him and shrugged. Jackie had been pressurised, he could tell that. Debi Franks making small talk, being all touchy-feely while sounding her out; about him and her job commitments before coming in over the top with a real Gut Wrencher.So Jackie had said.He tried again. ‘Tell them to find someone else.’‘I couldn’t live with myself. You must see that. Young girls are being killed.’He hadn’t been sensitive; selfish more like. ‘So that’s it then? You’ve decided to go ahead, whatever I say?’She snarled at him, losing her temper. ‘Paul, grow up.’That stung; he reacted badly. ‘Sod you. Spend your birthday sucking up to Debi, then. Alone. I’m off to the pub to have lunch with someone who cares.’‘Paul...’

...His mother was talking. ‘Paul ... Do you want pork or beef?’He looked up. The waitress was waiting, notebook in hand. She smiled at him.‘Or lamb, if you’re quick,’ she said.He nodded. ‘Lamb it is.’ Just like he felt.Led trustingly to the slaughter.***While the shower was easing away her headache, Jackie wondered how one phone conversation — admittedly a lengthy one — could have turned her life upside down. Debi Franks had played on her sensitivities; young girls in deep trouble, a nightmare. Twelve weeks, she had said — it could all be arranged — hell, it was already arranged; reporting to Detective Chief Superintendent Tony Wilson, who headed up the Met’s vice squad — but with a working location in the Bristol area. For that period of time Paul James had to take a back seat. Not that he took it too well; stormed off to have lunch with his mother.Alternative hot and cold water jets did the trick; made her body tingle as it sluiced away the toxins. There was her impending court case. Sixteen year old, HIV positive, Carol Naringa was facing a manslaughter charge — for stabbing a sexual pervert to death. Carol had one failed suicide attempt behind her and was being treated by Bill Knox, a psychiatrist. Brains, as Jackie called him, was a good friend and confidant when the going got tough. And a little loopy.She pulled the towel around herself; time to give Brains a call. He answered on the third ring.His voice had a touch of playfulness. ‘Hello “Jackie calling” ... do I sense a problem?’How did he know that?Before she had a chance to reply he was off again. ‘It’s Bank holiday Monday: the day after the night before. I ask myself, what right-minded person would deign to converse with me while suffering a birthday hangover?’Jackie chuckled, despite feeling a bit queasy and anxious. ‘Spot on, Brains. I need your advice.’‘Twist my arm.’‘Just us two ... how about meeting up at the Nelson?’There was a hesitation. ‘Paul?’‘Having lunch with his mother ... someone who cares.’‘Oh.’‘Don’t worry ... I’m not going to cry on your shoulder ... there’s something else.’‘It all sounds very intriguing...’‘Settled, then. I’ll see you there. One o’clock, suit you.’

Jackie sat nursing a glass of flat lemonade while Brains expounded his theory of perspective. He punctured a roast spud with his fork and pointed it at her.‘Look at it this way. Three months on this case isn’t a lifetime. Save just one girl from suffering the same fate as Carol, it will be worth it.’Would it?She poked at her half-eaten sandwich. ‘I suppose so.’He slurped at his pint of lager; put the glass back on the top of the Formica table. Frowned, as if a thought had struck him. ‘Mind you .... it could be dangerous.’A jolt of anxiety went through her mind. If she’d had her wits about her when Debi had twisted her arm, she might have had second thoughts. ‘I suppose so.’He chewed on a piece of meat, while appraising her. ‘You don’t sound up for much.’She pushed her plate away. ‘To be honest, Brains, I feel like I’m strapped into a roller-coaster climbing up the first incline to the top—and then knowing it’ll be hurtling down out of my control.’The sound of laughter at an adjoining table. Someone cracking a joke, and the chink of glasses in response.It had all gone pear-shaped.

Author

Bio: British age 74 (young) retired and living in Thailand. Profession, Charity Auditor working in some 40 countries over the last ten years before retiring. Familiar with writing reports to professional standard. Sense of humour, reserved, realist and down to earth. Enjoy writing with a passion for the unusual.Genre: Fiction crime Email: stephenterry747@hotmail.comPhone: 0066823250835 Thailand